


Broken Pieces of the Night

by Saetha



Series: Breathe [Vane Lives! AU] [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Charles Vane Lives (Black Sails), Disabled Character, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gardens & Gardening, Implied Jack/Anne/Vane, M/M, MaxAnne is obv also a background ship, Multi, Nightmares, Polyamory, Scars, Sexual Tension, Sparring, Threesome - M/M/M, like SO MUCH OF IT LMAO, references to past Silverflint, soft things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27959174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: Thomas puts aside his book then, sticking a leather bookmark between the pages. He reaches out, pulling James close, kissing him slowly and languidly until he relaxes underneath his touch. James can sense the tension draining out of his shoulders from the feeling of Thomas’ lips on his. Thomas smiles, running his fingers down the side of James’ throat, until they come to rest over his heart.“This is part of why I fell in love with you,” he says. “Your heart has always been far too big to be occupied by just one person alone.”*It has been five years since the events on Skeleton Island. James and Thomas are living a quiet life in a little cottage near Savannah, finally having begun to heal and reveling in the fact that they are together again. That is, until they hear the news that four pirates were captured nearby, and said pirates come knocking at their door late at night. James is at least as surprised to see them as they are to see him.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Charles Vane, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton/Charles Vane
Series: Breathe [Vane Lives! AU] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183859
Comments: 98
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Would anyone like to read some domestic FlintVaneHamilton? ...no? Too bad, you're getting it anyway ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ . Shoutout to the wonderful Ivana for beta reading & general inspiration, and to Elle! Happy Birthday my dear! :)

_Broken pieces of the night  
Sing like hollow lullabies  
You and I, always in disguises  
_([x](https://genius.com/Fleurie-love-and-war-lyrics))

_The air is thick and humid on the day that Charles Vane is supposed to die. The crowd jeers at first, but then falls silent when his words ring through the air. Flint is not far. Billy and their men are in position, ready to sever the rope, ready to snatch Vane out from under Eleanor’s nose, even when he shakes his head at them. Flint doesn’t care; he will not experience this loss again. He will not._

_Except – the shot that is supposed to sever the rope goes wide, they aren’t fast enough, and Vane hangs, struggling with his face turning purple as the rope doesn’t snap, surrounded by utter silence. Men step forward to pull his legs, but even they take too long. Flint thinks he can hear Charles wheezing as he dies, can almost feel the pressure of the rope on his own skin._

_He wants to scream, fights his way through the crowd, towards him, but the closer he moves, the farther away he is. Charles’ body gives one final jerk, and he is still far away, so far. The crowd carries him with them now, closer towards the body, swinging lifeless from the gallows. He reaches out in vain, aiming at the rope, but it is too late, of course it is. Charles’ corpse hits the ground, with a sound too heavy to feel real, and Flint reaches out-_

_Vane’s eyes snap open, and there is nothing left in them but dark emptiness, his suddenly blackened teeth opening in a snarl._

_“Too late.”_

_*_

James wakes up with a shout wedged somewhere inside his throat. For a moment, he is right back there, in Nassau’s town square, can smell the stench of the people around him, feel the morning haze on his skin, hear Vane’s last words. _This isn’t what happened_ , he reminds himself. The rope had been severed. Vane had survived, if only barely, out of commission for most of what followed. They had left Nassau, had returned to Miranda’s house and then to the _Walrus_. They had gotten their war and fought it, until it ended with the one sight that would be seared into his eyes forever – Thomas, healthy and whole. Thomas, whose voice soothes the demons of the past away, whose touch is never far. Who still gets cold feet at night, wedging his toes between James’ calves to warm them; who still loves the taste of lemon and abhors raisins. Thomas, who he has slowly rebuilt his life with. Neither of them is the same they once were, but they still fit together like lock and key.

Said Thomas has startled awake and is now reaching out towards him in the darkness of their bedroom. His hand is warm and heavy on James’ back, anchoring him in the present.

“James?” he whispers.

“I’m fine,” James presses out. “A nightmare, nothing more.” Thomas’ hand remains, until the frantic beating of James’ heart has stilled, and he is breathing more easily again. Early on, in the days after their reunion, after Abigail Ashe’s covert influence had seen them free and living on their own, they had agreed not to keep secrets. That no detail of their past, no matter how terrible, would be ignored so that it could rear its ugly head when they least expected it.

“It was Vane,” he finally says. “Of all those who died…for some reason, my mind decides to dwell on those who didn’t.” _Those who were left behind_. He doesn’t say it out loud, but the words are still there, falling into the silence between them.

“They are strong enough to carry their own fates. Do not take it away from them. It is not your duty to fight this world over and over again,” Thomas reminds him gently, without rebuke. He has said it many times, but sometimes, James has to hear it once more, especially in the dark of the night when the demons come crawling out of the shadows. “You have given it so much more than many others, James. You deserve rest.”

“I know.” His voice is barely audible. He turns around, finds Thomas’ hand, and clasps it between his palms. His eyes are open, but in the darkness of the room all he can see is a faint outline where Thomas is lying. Nonetheless, he can feel the intensity of Thomas’ gaze on his skin.

“I know,” he says again. And it is true – when the daylight falls through the shutters, when he is in their garden or works on yet another house with the simple tools of his trade in his hand, he knows. He is at peace then, secure in the notion that he has done enough, that he deserves this, this haven of peace and quiet with the man he loves. But here and now, with the darkness creeping in through the windows and seeping through his skin, he cannot help but think that he should have done more. For the pirates and the war they were waging. For his friends. For Thomas – he should never have stopped searching. If he hadn’t, then perhaps Miranda would be here with them now. Perhaps Eleanor would be alive, and Gates, and all the others. Perhaps Vane wouldn’t have the scar around his neck, surely still standing out in stark contrast against his tanned skin. Perhaps…

“Stop thinking.” Thomas scoots closer, pressing a kiss to the scraped knuckles of James’ hand. He knows what’s inside him, he always does. “You know that there is no end to it once you begin. We cannot change the past; we can only shape the future. And the future that we are building here is a good one. And it _needs_ you. _I_ need you.”

“I know,” James says, a third time, his voice quiet and rough. He closes his eyes then, pulls Thomas closer to him, concentrates on the feeling of his skin under his hands. On the marvel that was given to him, that he had never expected to receive. He wills himself back into the here and now, banishes the image of Vane dangling from the noose from his mind. This is the present, not the past.

They fall asleep just so, intertwined and close, their breathing slowly evening out under the cover of the night.

*

James is at the market when he hears it. Four pirates, captured in Port Royal a few days ago, just a day’s ride from here, north of Savannah as they are. Two men, two women – and it is the latter that sets the tongues wagging, for it is not often that one of _them_ is caught. No names are spoken in James’ presence, and he takes great care not to hear who it is. It’s no longer his concern; no longer his duty to murder any magistrate who would dare defy him so.

“It’s a good thing they are getting rid of them folk,” the miller tells him when he pays for his flour, “murdering and thieving lot that they are. Would steal an honest man’s work and think nothing of it. Not like you, Mr. Smith.”

“Of course,” James says, in the most non-committal voice that he can muster. Flint stirs inside him, for just a second, a flash of fury at those who would rather stay under the yoke of the unjust and greedy to hold on to what little comfort they have than do their part to see justice delivered to everyone. He wonders what the townsfolk would do if they knew who he was. What he’s done. It doesn’t take much imagination, not really.

He forces down the thoughts, however, just takes his sacks of flour to the mule and his little cart waiting outside, and leaves. _Peace_ , he reminds himself. If not for his own sake, then for Thomas’.

James spends the rest of the day resolutely not trying to think of the pirates about to be tried and, surely, hanged and how they might be people he once knew. Instead, he spends his time in the garden, weeding the vegetable beds and constructing a little fence around Miranda’s tree so that roaming deer cannot get at the little sapling and rob it of its leaves. He sets out some food for the cat that comes by occasionally and thinks to himself that they’ll have to cut more wood for the fire soon. Thomas returns in the late afternoon, and one look at his face tells James that he, too, has heard the news.

Thomas hugs him wordlessly, his touch saying more than his words could. He might not know them personally, might not have sailed and fought with the pirates for ten years, but he still has as little taste for capital punishment as ever.

“Do you want to find out who they are?” Thomas asks him when they sit down for their dinner. James pauses with the spoon halfway up to his mouth, sets it down again.

“I don’t know what is worse,” he finally confesses. “Not to know, and imagine who it could be, or to know that these are people I once fought beside.”

Thomas nods.

“When I was at Bedlam, they would hold public visiting hours,” he says. His eyes are cast down on the table, his hand shaking ever so slightly. James has seen the scars, knows what is hiding beneath the fabric of his shirt. He reaches out to put his hand on Thomas arm, squeezing a little. Thomas looks at him and smiles.

“I don’t know who I hated more – those who were unknown to me, who came to stare and gape and point fingers at the ‘unfortunate souls’ caught behind the bars of the so-called hospital, or those who had known me and who had come to catch a glimpse of the deprived and shamed man who was once a lord’s son.” He takes a deep breath. “If you wish to find out, if you wish to go see for yourself, then I will go with you. But you should not feel obliged to know, to witness their end.”

James nods. He knows only too well the value of what Thomas is offering, with his dislike of crowds and the eyes of numerous people potentially upon them.

“I will think upon it,” he says, but he cannot shake the image of Vane, of Rackham and Bonny, dangling from the gallows as entertainment for the crowd. It follows him throughout dinner, to the place in front of the fire where they both like to sit and read side by side, shoulders touching.

“What if it’s Vane?” Flint finally asks. Thomas knows the name, just like he knows the ones of all those who used to fight with Flint. “They talked about two women. There are so few amongst the pirates and Anne Bonny-“ He stops himself and frowns, hating the fact that he is still thinking and talking about this. “Jack would never allow her to be taken without him. Charles would never allow _them_ to be taken without _him_. He loves them far too much.”

He has seen it, in the way that Vane had been looking at Rackham and Bonny when they had freed him from the carriage, the way that Rackham had run his fingers down Vane’s arm when they had brought him back from Nassau, unconscious but alive.

A smile runs across Thomas’ face at James’ last sentence, and he closes his book, a finger stuck between the pages to mark the position.

“Did you love him?” His face is free from judgement as he asks, and James gives the question the consideration it deserves.

“Love.” He shakes his head, slowly.

“I love you. I _loved_ Silver.” And isn’t it painfully ironic that now is the first time he can say it out loud, far too softly, far too late. “Vane… _Charles_ …he was comfort when I needed it. Pain when I wanted it. A partner when I was desperate for one. I hated him. I wanted him. Then he saved my life, and I respected him. In the end, I cared for him a great deal.”

Thomas puts aside his book then, sticking a leather bookmark between the pages. He reaches out, pulling James close, kissing him slowly and languidly until he relaxes underneath his touch. James can sense the tension draining out of his shoulders from the feeling of Thomas’ lips on his. Thomas smiles, running his fingers down the side of James’ throat, until they come to rest over his heart.

“This is part of why I fell in love with you,” he says. “Your heart has always been far too big to be occupied by just one person alone.”

James clasps Thomas’ hand with his own, and for a moment he remembers London again, remembers the nights they spent in bed alone and those with Miranda, how the three of them had felt like a perfect unit. Their company had made him feel invincible; back then he had truly thought they would be able to shape the world to their liking.

“And yet, you will always have the largest piece,” James tells him, and Thomas laughs at that, a low and forgiving sound, before he leans in to kiss him again.

*

Dark dreams chase him again this night, although there is no story, no coherence to them, just a long line of the dead shuffling by, their eyes fastening upon him with not a single shred of pity or forgiveness in them. James wakes up to total darkness, his heart hammering in his chest. His mouth is dry, and he shakes his head, trying in vain to dislodge the feeling that something is _wrong_. The feeling doesn’t leave and with a sigh, he finally resolves to fetch a drink of water. Thomas stirs next to him but doesn’t say anything when James leaves their bed.

He pats barefoot across the floor, hands outstretched as he feels his way along the walls towards the water pitcher in the kitchen. Usually, being awake and moving around their house quiets him from his nightmares, but not so tonight – the feeling that something is wrong and not as it should be grows stronger by the moment.

James frowns, and stops in his path. He leans against the wall, closes his eyes and just _listens_ , the old and familiar rush of exhilaration surging through him. Perhaps it is just the cat who has snuck into the house again. There – the most minute of scuffles, a breath, the soft creaking of leather. Noises that definitely do not belong in this house, not at this time of night.

Intruders, then.

James moves soundlessly towards the kitchen, grabbing hold of the closest knife that he can find. Much to Thomas’ amusement, he always keeps a dagger near him at all times, even during sleep – but of course he didn’t think to take one along when just going for a drink of water. Then he pauses and listens again.

The noise sounds out again, louder, from the entrance hall and moving towards him. Flint pats around and brings himself into position. He can hear someone approaching, stepping through the doorway into the kitchen. There is a faint beam of moonlight from outside illuminating a cloaked figure. Flint steps in behind them, grabbing them, and holding the tip of his knife to the unknown person’s throat.

“Not a single move,” he hisses. “Or you are history.”

The figure stiffens, becomes completely motionless for a moment.

“ _Flint_?” There is only one person with that deep a rasp, deeper even since the hanging, who would know his voice, his name.

“ _Vane_?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect so many people to be intrigued by this! Thank you so much for all your lovely feedback thus far - hope you'll enjoy this chapter where things finally get started properly!
> 
> Note: canon-appropriate swearing in this one.

James is so surprised that he doesn’t offer any resistance when Vane raises his hand and pushes the knife away from his throat. He steps to the side and turns around, the moonlight reflecting from his eyes.

“What in the-“ he starts and stops himself. James is well aware that Vane can’t see him properly right now, so he walks over to the wall and lights the nearest candle he can find. His hands are shaking a little from the rush of the moment, but if Vane notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Fuck,” Vane says when the light of the candle illuminates James’ face. “It really is you.”

“ _What are you doing here_?” James can’t help it that his voice is just a little bit higher than usual. Whatever he had expected to happen when he went to bed the previous night, this very definitely wasn’t it.

“I should ask you the same.” Vane frowns, face still caught in an expression of incredulity, and words coming out slightly slower than usual. “That lying fuck John Silver told us you were dead.”

James has neither the time nor the patience to talk about Silver, his plans and motivations, and his own life since Skeleton Island. Especially not in the middle of the night, with Charles Vane standing in his kitchen.

“James?”

They both turn around in complete synchronicity to find Thomas standing in the doorframe, blinking sleep from his eyes and frowning in confusion.

“Thomas.” James immediately moves to stand next to him, daring Vane to say a single a word. “This is Charles Vane. I believe you know the name.”

“Thomas Barlow.” Unlike James, Thomas has caught himself far more quickly. He approaches Vane with his hand outstretched, a picture of perfect composure, as if having one of the most feared pirates of the West Indies standing in his kitchen in the dead of night whilst he is wearing nothing but his nightclothes is one of the most natural things in the world.

Vane’s eyebrows rise even higher, but he takes Thomas’ outstretched hand and shakes it, far too perplexed to resist his charm. Now that James has had a moment to pause and reconsider the situation, he notices how haggard Vane’s face appears. It looks like he hasn’t eaten properly in days, and his skin is covered in dirt and scratches. He is favouring one leg, and there is a slightly wild expression in his eyes, an expression that James recognises from when they had ridden to Jack’s rescue. It is only then that his mind finally begins to connect the dots.

“You escaped from Port Royal,” he says.

“Yes,” Vane tells him, casting a cautious glance at Thomas. James makes a pacifying gesture – _don’t worry. He knows who you are and what I used to be_.

“Where are the others?” There is no need to pretend that Jack and Anne aren’t with him.

“Outside. We needed somewhere to wait out the night, can’t move as fast as we want. They’re on the lookout in all towns and ports, and this house seemed isolated enough. Thought it might be empty.” Vane’s gaze roves again to Thomas and then back to James. Despite his reputation and appearance, he has always been perceptive – impossible to survive as captain of a ship for long if you aren’t.

“Who’s the fourth person?” James asks as he moves towards the entrance to the house, candle still in hand. Vane frowns, and he makes another placating gesture in response. “The rumours spoke of two men and _two_ women.”

“Mary. Joined Jack’s crew under a different name a while ago, ‘til she discovered that she didn’t have to hide who she was on the ship, not with Anne on board.” He shrugs, but there is care in the way that he moves, the worried lines around his eyes softening somewhat.

James opens the door – and finds himself face to face with Anne Bonny. She looks like she hasn’t aged a day since he last saw her, at least in the light of the candle in his hand. Her first instinct when it isn’t Vane facing her is to draw her sword, but then she recognises just _who_ is standing in front of her and her eyes widen.

“Flint?” she says, in the exact same incredulous tone that Vane had used earlier. Someone behind her gasps, and James raises the light in his hand to see a rather young looking person with short brown hair, supporting Jack Rackham, who looks like he has had a significantly rougher night than anyone else. He frowns, instantly understanding the situation and just why it was that the four of them hadn’t been able to move as fast as they wanted.

“Come on in then.” James sighs, raising the candle and listening out into the night for any eventual pursuers. The three of them shuffle inside, Anne unable to keep from casting several more incredulous glances at him. Vane’s gaze immediately travels back to Jack as they enter, the worry in eyes intensifying.

“How badly is he hurt?” James asks him, nodding at Jack.

“’He’ can speak for himself, thank you very much.” Jack gasps as he tries and put weight on his right leg, face turning white as a sheet.

“Got shot when we were making our escape,” Vane grunts, directing Jack over to the chair that Thomas has helpfully pulled out already. “We were fast enough to lose ‘em in the dark, I think, but they’ll be close behind us.”

“You stole some horses?” James wants to know, and Vane nods. James curses under his breath. There is nowhere to stable this many horses on their property, and they would be easily recognised if a patrol happened to come by. “We’ll need to get rid of them.”

“I can take them out and spook ‘em so they’ll run away,” Mary offers. “They won’t be able to trace them back to us that way.”

Vane gives her his grunted assent and Anne nods.

“Be careful,” Jack warns. Mary just rolls her eyes at him before she strolls out. James looks around only to see that Thomas has already fetched the medical kit. During his time on the plantation he learned the basics of field medicine, his mind ever hungry to keep itself occupied. He has enough skill to care for most smaller injuries and illnesses efficiently enough. Of course, a gunshot wound is an entirely different matter…

They manage to procure a second chair and a pair of scissors and, after a few minutes, Jack’s leg is propped up and the fabric of his pants cut away. The man seems to mourn the loss of his garment more so than that of his mobility, it seems.

Jack begins cursing colourfully and loudly as soon as Thomas gets anywhere near the wound. Anne remains quiet, but Vane keeps pacing up and down their kitchen until James wants to reach out and hold him, force him to stay in place.

“He’ll be fine,” he says. Vane shoots him an angry glance.

“Will he? Didn’t know you’d suddenly become an expert at healing people rather than killing them, _Flint_ ,” he snaps back. James draws in a sharp breath.

“More so than you, for sure,” he snarls. Vane is about to open his mouth and return something in kind when Thomas turns around.

“Both of you. Out. I cannot work with your childish arguments distracting me.” His voice isn’t particularly loud, but it brooks no argument. Vane opens his mouth and closes it again without saying a word when he sees Jack’s blood coating Thomas’ fingertips. James is quite sure that it has been a long time since anyone has talked to him like that.

“In here.” He nods at the living room, opening the door. Vane grits his teeth and follows. James closes the door behind him and waves the bottle he has grabbed from the kitchen.

“Rum?” he asks. Vane snorts, holding out his hand. James takes a good sip himself before passing the bottle over to Vane. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve as he watches Vane drink.

“Let’s have it, then,” he says, when Vane is done and has set the bottle aside, rather than holding it in his right. If this were seven years ago, they would have begun laying into each other with their fists. If this were five years ago, they would have done the same, but somehow ended up fucking each other on the way. Now, Vane takes a deep beath, crossing one arm in front of his chest.

“Why did you never send word?” His eyes glint in the candlelight and James knows that his answer is important.

“For all intents and purposes, I was removed from the scene in Nassau,” he says carefully. “After Thomas and I came here…I recognised that it had to stay this way. A message is too easy to intercept, and even a rumour would have proven dangerous. Besides…” He takes a deep breath, not knowing how Vane will react to the next point. “It took Thomas and I several months to find our way out of the penal colony we were in. And once we did…I have lost him once. I spent ten years going to war with England because they had stolen him from me, when our only crime was that we loved one another. I would not, _will_ not, ever lose him again.”

It is strange how these words come so easily to him now. Once, he had only ever trusted Silver with them. They seem a lifetime away, these moments, even though it wasn’t so long ago. Vane takes a deep breath, reaches out for the rum, and takes another drink as he thinks through James’ answer. His gaze wanders through the room as he does so, taking in the fireplace, the simple but well used furniture and the numerous books on the shelves, the only true luxury they allow themselves here.

“I had always wondered what drove you to be the man that you were.” He frowns. “Silver told us all that you had been ‘removed’. We took this to mean that you had died, maybe that he’d killed you himself. Had a fucking wake and all, got piss drunk and told stories about what an ass you were.”

James suppresses a snort. He can imagine the scene only too well.

“Truth be told, I was fuming. Almost killed Silver when he brought the news. If I’d known you were still alive, had chosen to walk away, I’d have come after you and killed you myself.” Vane’s eyes narrow and James is reminded that no matter what they used to share, it is not without reason that Vane was once one of the most feared pirate captains in Nassau. Likely still is. He tenses slightly, getting ready to defend himself. Vane’s gaze flickers over to the closed kitchen door where they can hear Jack’s occasional cursing as Thomas is digging the bullet out of his leg.

“To find you here, now, after all these years, living with the one man none of us presumably could ever measure up to…”

He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, walking towards James. James gets ready to evade a punch thrown in his direction – as justified as one would be, he has no desire to feel Vane’s fist on his flesh right now. All that Vane does, however, is to close his arms around him in a brief, but nonetheless strong, hug. James notices that his right arm falls back to his side quickly, but he doesn’t comment on it. Some damages from the hanging Vane was able to recover from; others will never disappear.

“You fucking cunt. I am glad to see you alive again,” Vane says. After a moment, James hugs him back, the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips.

“Fuck you, Charles.”

Vane pats his back, holding on just for a little longer before stepping away again.

“Are you going to punch me now?” James asks. The warmth from Vane’s body lingers on his, bringing up old memories, very few of them bad.

“I should.” Vane flexes the fingers of his hand. “But I doubt any of the others will be happy to find us rolling around the floor in your house, trading blows. Besides, if this had been me, and Jack or Anne come back to life again…” He simply shrugs.

James nods knowingly. He wonders how much the past years have changed Vane, what the many months that he spent recovering at Maroon Island whilst they were off to fight the war have done to him. The man in front of him is the same that he has come to know in Charleston, on Teach’s beach, on the Walrus the night after. Still brimming with fight and dedication to his cause down to the last fibre. But he has lost some of his arrogance, if none of his cockiness; it has been replaced by a steady self-confidence instead, secure and comfortable in his current life and position. It is an alluring mix.

Vane raises the bottle again, taking another, more thoughtful swig. He hands it back to James, who also takes a drink. Towards the end, they had always been comfortable sharing their physical space with each other, and now is no exception.

“How did they capture you in the first place?” James wants to know. Vane frowns.

“We were careless. Were going to raid a fort whose commander has been known to cause us trouble. The information we had was bad, but the men were impatient, and so we risked it. Stupid fucking idea. Paid for it with lives and blood.”

“At least you’re acknowledging that it was a terrible idea,” James snorts. Vane just shrugs.

“As if you never took on a suicidal mission or two to keep your crew happy.” On that point, James has to concede. Vane turns the bottle in his hand but doesn’t drink. When he looks up at James again, there is a different expression in his eyes.

“The day you left, you promised that you would return, so that we could rebuild Nassau together.” He reaches out, making a sweeping gesture around the room. “Was it worth it, then? Breaking your promise, giving it all up, for the sake of this life?” Despite his words, it isn’t hurt or jealousy that colour his voice, not really. Nor is it the burning anger from earlier. Just quiet curiosity, with only a hint of disappointment.

“For the sake of peace in Nassau, even if it is not the kind of peace we wanted? For the sake of a life with _him_?” James looks him straight into the eyes, anchors Vane’s gaze with his. “Yes, yes I believe it was.”

Vane holds his gaze before he turns away and nods. Something has shifted between them, subtly but irrevocably, but before James can say anything to address it, the door opens to reveal Anne.

“He says you’d know where to find more bandages.” She nods back to where Thomas is presumably still caring for Jack.

“How is he?” Vane asks, stepping forward.

“He’ll need rest and ideally an actual doctor who knows what they’re doing, but provided he doesn’t do anything rash, he will keep the leg and most of its function besides.” Thomas appears behind Anne, trying to clean the blood off his hands with a cloth. He nods at Vane’s leg. “Would you like me to have a look at your leg, too?”

Vane shakes his head. “Unnecessary. It’ll heal soon.”

Thomas looks doubtful, but to James’ surprise he doesn’t push it. He sighs.

“James, the bandages?” he asks.

When James returns to the kitchen with more bandages in his hands, he finds Vane leaning against the table right next to Jack. Jack’s face is still white as a sheet, his injured leg propped up in front of him. Anne is hovering behind him, on hand on his shoulder. James has no doubt that she and Vane would defend Jack down to the very last drop of blood in their bodies if it came down to it.

Thomas takes the clean strips of linen from his hands and begins to wrap Jack’s leg.

“You should avoid putting any weight on it for the next few days,” he advises him. “Keep it propped up whenever you can. Do you have a ship waiting somewhere?”

The three pirates exchange a gaze, one whose meaning isn’t lost on James.

“There were some…complications,” Jack finally says. “We’ll have to organise our own transport out of Savannah or another nearby port.”

“It is much too unsafe in your current state. James, would you…” Thomas nods over to the bedroom, indicating for him to follow.

“They can’t stay here,” James tells him when the door closes behind them. “It’s too dangerous.”

“For us or for them?” Thomas frowns. “If we send them out like this, tonight, it would surely mean their deaths. James…”

“I don’t-“ James stares into space, clenching his teeth in anger and frustration. He knows Thomas is right, but he is also loath to be drawn back into the past, to the man he used to be if the others remain for too long.

“Is this about Vane? You know I wouldn’t mind if you-“

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” James takes a deep breath. “When we arrived here, I promised myself that Captain James Flint was forever buried, that he had died. That you deserved a man who lives fully in the here and now, who loves you with everything he is, unfettered by the horrors of days gone by. I’m not sure I can be that man with the past nipping at my heels, waiting to ambush me around every corner. But neither could I send them to their deaths.”

“I think you believe yourself weaker than you actually are.” Thomas smiles, and clasps James’ face between his hands, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Your past, _our_ past, is as much part of you as the present. It does not make you a lesser man to admit so. And, besides, I _am_ looking forward to getting to know them all, after the stories you told.”

James manages a weak smile before he sighs. He wishes he could have the same amount of faith in himself that Thomas has. Then, however, he knows that Thomas is right – there is no way they can send them back out tonight, not with Jack wounded and them all so exhausted.

“There’s a spare room in the back that you can sleep in tonight,” he says when he enters the kitchen again. Mary has returned from scattering the horses, the shadows under her eyes obvious by now. “We only have one spare bed, but plenty of blankets that you can use.”

“I don’t mind the floor,” Anne says, nodding over at Jack. “He should have the bed.”

Jack opens his mouth to deny her offer, but she closes it again when he sees her gaze. James has no doubt that she would tie him to the bed to keep him there if she thought it necessary.

“What happens if they come to search the house whilst we are asleep?” Vane steps forward. James knows he is planning out possible escape routes, is trying to keep every eventuality in mind.

“We are not entirely defenseless.” Thomas gives him a smile with almost no mirth in it. “We should be able to buy you enough time to sneak out through the back door and into the woods. There’s a mule in the stable; use it for Jack.” It is a flimsy excuse for a plan, but it’s all they have.

“Thank you.”

That one comes from Jack. Now that the rush from escaping and being chased has finally died down, the traces of exhaustion are plain to see – the way Anne’s shoulders are slumping ever so slightly, how Jack is leaning heavily back against his chair, how Vane’s speech is becoming slurred as he has to stop and keep searching for words, how Mary is barely able to keep her eyes open. James and Thomas exchange a glance; it doesn’t take them long to get the room ready, and supply everyone with some food and drink. It is accepted gratefully.

“Someone should keep watch.” Vane is standing close enough that James can feel the warmth of his breath on his skin. He is obviously tired, his limp more pronounced now. A pulled muscle, he had told James quietly earlier. There is a soft glint in his eyes as he looks back into the room where Jack is passed out on the bed, Anne has fallen asleep sitting on the floor with her back leaning against it, and Mary is sprawled over the floor, all loose limbs, mouth open in sleep and snoring softly.

“You need to rest.” James catches his gaze then, letting Vane see that this isn’t an accusation of any weakness on his part, but a statement of simple fact. “Thomas and I will see to it that you’re safe.”

He can see the urge inside Vane to contradict him, to insist on keeping watch tonight, but instead, he simply holds James’ gaze for a moment longer before he gives in, weariness bleeding all over his features. He nods his thanks and returns to the room, drawing the door closed behind him.

James stares after him for a moment before shaking his head. He does not know what tomorrow will bring, but whatever it is, their lives are surely bound to become a whole lot more interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that, you ask? Two fics in one day (although in 2 completely different fandoms)? WHY YES IT IS. Since 2020 was so shit, at least let it go out with a bang (no actual banging yet though, alas). 
> 
> Enjoy :>

There is a knock on their door in the earliest hours of the next morning. Thomas is still asleep, never having been an early riser, but James has just been in the process of splashing some water into his face when he hears the sound. His entire body is immediately alert – there are only a few reasons why someone would knock at their door this early, and none of them are good.

He walks past the room where Jack, Anne, Vane, and Mary are presumably still asleep and rouses them with a few quick words.

“Get ready to leave,” he hisses, “but don’t go yet. I will try and turn them away.” He doesn’t wait for a reply but adjusts his nightclothes as well as he can before answering the door. At least he and Thomas had the presence of mind to clear away any trace of their guests outside the bedroom before going back to sleep.

“Yes?” he asks as he opens the door.

Outside are two redcoats who look like they’ve had about as much sleep last night as he did, probably less.

“Apologies, Mister…” The slightly more alert looking of the two raises his eyebrows.

“…Smith. James Smith.” James holds out his hand. “What can I do for you?”

“We are looking for four escaped pirates. There has been word that they were seen around here. Did you notice anything peculiar last night?”

“Escaped pirates? How dreadful.” James crosses his arms in front of his chest, pretending to shiver a little. He doesn’t have to act much – there is still a chill in the early morning air. “No, there were no incidences tonight. But thank you for the warning, I will make sure to be extra vigilant.” He prays that the soldiers won’t insist on coming in and that none of their four guests will make a sound. At least there don’t seem to be any obvious hoof marks from the horses on the ground.

The redcoat nods, trying to look inside the house past James’ shoulder. He frowns a little.

“Do you mind if we come in and take a look around? Pure formality, of course.”

James is saved from having to answer by the door to their bedroom opening and Thomas stepping out. Somehow he has managed to flatten the wild strands of his hair and pull on a waistcoat, making him look almost annoyingly put together. James bows his head a little in deference and steps back without making eye contact, like a proper servant would. They have roles to uphold, after all.

“What seems to be the issue?” Thomas smile is, presumably, dazzling, although James cannot see it right this moment. The redcoats repeat much the same spiel as earlier, with Thomas giving them the same answers that James had, albeit in a purposely more arrogant undertone. He might just be a school teacher now, but he is very much aware of the importance of his role.

“Mister Smith.” Thomas turns around in James’ direction, raising his voice ever so slightly, so that the four pirates in their guest bedroom can hear what is being said. “Could you show our visitors around the house please? But make it quick. You know I don’t like to be left waiting with my breakfast.”

“Of course, Sir.” James inclines his head, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his lips from twitching in a traitorous smile. Their home isn’t big, but he still makes sure to open the door to the guest bedroom last. The room is empty, every trace of its former occupants gone, except for the mussed bed linens.

“Apologies, you caught me right as I was rising earlier,” James explains. “Mister Barlow is…quite stringent when it comes to the duties around the house, I’m sure you understand.”

One of the redcoats give a little laugh – James has apparently guessed correctly that there is little love lost between him and his commanding officer. He tries to ignore the other soldier as he opens the door leading out to the back of their little house, hoping fervently that Vane and the others aren’t just waiting around the corner. To his relief, the redcoat steps back into the room only moments later.

“Everything seems fine,” he says, nodding to his companion, who gives a little sigh.

“Apologies for troubling you, Mister Smith,” he says, inclining his head and touching his hat briefly. “We’ll let you get back to your duties.” James gives him a grateful nod. He watches until the soldiers have vanished into the treeline, before he turns around and almost sags in relief.

“You were enjoying this far too much,” he accuses Thomas, who is too busy laughing to reply.

“Enjoying what?” Vane’s gravelly voice sounds out behind him. He still looks tired and haggard, but at least a little less so than the previous night.

“There is a certain amount of…deception necessary when we deal with members of the public,” Thomas explains, an echo of his laughter still caught around his lips. “And as someone with actual carpentry and gardening experience, James is far more suited to playing the role of attendant than I will ever be.”

Vane raises his eyebrows, several unspoken implications clearly sitting on his tongue. “Thank you for the warning,” is all he says, however. “We had enough time to hide in the mule’s stable. Bloody beast almost kicked me in the balls.”

“I’m sure that would have been a great loss to the world,” Thomas’ voice is entirely serious, and James has to bite his tongue from laughing out loud. Vane looks perplexed for a moment before he shakes his head in surprise. Thomas, it appears, continues to defy all of his expectations.

Jack, on the other hand, is still in a considerable amount of pain, although it is expressed more in the pinched set of his face and the occasional hiss than any actual complaining. Thomas repeats his instructions to avoid putting any weight on his leg whatsoever for the next few days. His words make it clear that he and James are willing to put them up for more than just this one night. Anne nods her thanks, clearly uncomfortable with having to accept anyone’s charity, but James waves her worries away. Their guests might not know it, but they have more than a little of the Urca treasure secreted away – enough to ensure them a more than comfortable life until the end of their days, even though they take great care to keep their wealth a secret.

Mary shows herself full of curiosity, having bounced back from the ordeal of the past days with the quickness of the young. She chats amicably with Flint as they prepare breakfast, whilst he says little and smiles a lot. She reminds him a little of a young Eleanor – not so much of her utter determination and belief that her way was the only right one, but of her curiosity, the sheer joy she takes in life and the intelligence with which she looks at everything around her. She makes a perfect counterpoint to Anne and it’s hard not to see why Jack, Anne and Vane are so enamoured with her. At some point he looks over his shoulder to see Thomas standing in the doorway and smiling as he watches them.

“How did you end up sailing with them?” James asks her, watching as she stirs the porridge.

“I’ve always wanted to be a pirate,” she shrugs. “Ever since I was little. Would smash a stick against a tree and rave against the ‘English bastards’. As soon as I was old enough, I went to find them, only to realise that Nassau was no longer the official pirate haven. Unofficially, however…” She turns around, winks, and grins a little.

James laughs quietly, although he cannot help the quiet sting of dread that he feels when he looks at her. The past days have shown that the English still know no mercy towards pirates, no matter who they are.

“You should be more careful in the future, then,” he tells her, looking down at the vegetables he is cutting up. Mary’s gaze darkens for a moment before she looks over towards the guestroom.

“I will not leave their side,” she says quietly. “Family is hard to come by, these days, and I will keep the one I found.”

James has nothing to say to that, so he only nods.

“You should tell the others that breakfast is ready soon,” he suggests as he takes the spoon from her hands to give the porridge a final stir. Mary does as he asks, almost bumping into Vane on the way who gives her a rare smile and clap on the shoulder as she walks past.

“She is so young,” James observes when Vane comes to a stop next to him, casting a critical glance at the porridge.

“Yes.” Vane confirms. “But she has made her choice. And she knows what she is doing; she is capable in a fight and on the ship. We will protect her.”

His voice moves from soft to hard, and there is no mistaking the glint of steel in his eyes at the last words. James has no doubt that they would all rather die than see Mary come to harm.

“How is she holding up?” he asks. He has had enough experiences with the English that the resulting nightmares will last him a lifetime. A person as young as Mary…if anyone knows about the monsters lurking in the darkness of your own thoughts, it is James. And although they have never talked about it, Vane knows, too. Some memories don’t fade easily, James realises, as he watches Vane raise his hand to rub the silvery scar on his throat.

“She will have nightmares,” Vane says. “Anne was with her the entire time, but nonetheless, this was the first time she was captured. It will leave its marks. She won’t face them alone.”

James nods. The change in Vane from the man who would sneer at even the mention of weakness to the one standing next to him now is obvious, if not unexpected. He still remembers that evening after Teach’s beach, on board the Walrus, when he had looked at him and thought, for the first time, that perhaps something could have grown between them that was more than trust and physical attraction. He remembers the moment of sheer relief when Vane had taken a shaky breath after he had cut the noose from his throat. He remembers that one last night on Maroon Island, Vane still too weak to do barely more than sit up and speak a few halting words at a time. James had promised him then that either, he would return with Nassau ready to be theirs again, or he would die in the attempt. That they would rebuild it together.

“Good.” He wants to add something else, but a soft noise from outside interrupts him. “Oh, I almost forgot.”

He retrieves some dried meat from their storage chamber, cuts it up into small pieces and adds just a bit of water to the bowl.

“Take this outside for me?” he asks Vane, who looks more than just a little confused.

“Can’t you take it yourself?” he rasps. James snorts.

“I would, but someone has to look after the porridge. And you’d just burn it. Or are you scared of what might be waiting in front of the door?” he teases. Vane gives an angry grunt and takes the bowl from James’ hands. In all honesty, James _could_ have carried it outside himself, but he wants to see Vane’s expression first. He watches as he walks towards the door, opens it, and then stops moving for a good five seconds, simply staring down at the ground and the creature in front of him.

“It’s a cat,” he finally says, as if he is confronting the world’s greatest mystery.

“Yes.” James has to invest a significant amount of effort to keep from laughing. “She comes here every morning, so we feed her.”

“Ah.” Vane remains unmoving for a few more seconds before he sets down the bowl. From the corner of his eyes, James watches him reach out slowly to pet the little black cat that has been their on-and-off companion for the past two years, coming by for some food at least once a day. He smiles a little and busies himself with finishing up breakfast instead.

*

The sun is high in the sky when Vane steps outside to join James in the garden. Thomas is at the school to pursue his daily work of teaching the local children, and Anne and Mary will not be parted from Jack’s side, who is currently spending most of the day napping in their guest bed.

Vane doesn’t say anything, just stretches out a little and turns his face into the sun, closing his eyes. James keeps working on his current task. After a while he can feel Vane’s glance on him, and he wonders what he is thinking, seeing when he looks at him. His hair has grown back out and he usually ties it together in the back, although he still keeps his beard neatly trimmed. James knows that his body hasn’t changed much – he still spends most of the day outside, embroiled in physical work, but there is a level of comfort, of peace to the way with which he moves now that hasn’t been there before. Or at least Thomas has told him as much.

When Vane says nothing, James looks up at him, unable to decipher the expression in his eyes.

“If you are going to be staying here for a few days, at least make yourself useful,” he says, and points at the large basket next to him. Pulling out the weeds is long overdue, and the garden is large enough that it will take him a while. Vane eyes first him, then the basket, and then very pointedly walks towards the wall where a selection of wooden planks is leaning against it, quite obviously meant to strengthen the fence that separates the garden from the nearby forest.

“Don’t know much about plants. Would probably pull out the wrong ones,” he says as a way of explanation. James can hardly fault him for it. “Helping you with the fence, however…”

Having Vane there to help him hold up the planks so they can strengthen the fence’s structure _does_ help, James has to admit. They barely notice the time passing – even though they work mostly in silence, it is an amicable one, and as comfortable as it has ever been between them.

It doesn’t take long for them to become heated in the sun. James’ shirt becomes drenched in sweat, clinging to his body, and he notices the way that Vane’s gaze is drawn to it. Vane snorts softly when he realises that James has become aware of his stare, and looks down at his own, equally wet garment. Without a word, he wriggles out of his shirt, stretching like a cat in the sun once the fabric is off his skin. It is good to see that, at least in this respect, he hasn’t changed at all.

Thomas finds them like this when he returns from work, bent over the fence that they are working on. James notices him first, leaning against the wall of their house and watching them, relaxed and confident in his stance. He loves the little thrill that runs through his body at the sight, a shadow of disbelief and unrestrained happiness that this man is back within his grasp that he feels every time he lays eyes on Thomas. He will never not be beautiful to his eyes – in a way quite different to the cocksure arrogance of Charles Vane, but no less attractive.

Vane notices his stare and turns around as well, giving Thomas a nod. Thomas’ gaze is drawn rather quickly to Vane’s impressive chest, and he doesn’t hide a single iota of his appreciation at the sight. He steps out towards them, inclining his head towards the fence.

“I see you made quite some progress today. It seems that James’ vegetables will be safe from marauding hedgehogs for now.”

James snorts as he stands up and dusts himself off.

“For a man so literate, you know remarkably little about the local flora and fauna.” A quick glance around him proves that there is nobody in sight besides Vane, so he steps towards Thomas and presses a kiss on his lips.

“Welcome home,” he smiles. Thomas hums into the kiss, his hand quickly caressing James’ cheek. It is how they greet each other every day, their own little ritual.

Vane clears his throat next to them and they both turn around to find him still hunkering on the ground, looking up at them with an expression that is difficult to decipher.

“We should go inside, have a look at what the others are doing. And you two should clean up before dinner,” Thomas says.

“In a moment. We are almost done.” James nods at the last two planks still lying in the grass next to them. Thomas laughs.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Don’t be too long.”

Vane watches as Thomas leaves, his gaze following him until he’s back in the house.

“A remarkable man,” he finally says. _So different from the world we once both belonged to._ He doesn’t say the words out loud, but they still hang in the air between them.

“Yes.” James gestures to the fence. “Shall we?”

Vane nods and reaches for the next plank. It is half hammered on when he finally speaks again.

“He has changed you.”

James stops what he is doing for a moment before he adjusts his grip on the plank and picks up another nail.

“Yes,” he says again. “And no. He brought bits of me back to life again that I had thought buried forever. I am as I once was, but also so much more.” He shrugs, his thoughts drawn to Miranda for a moment. They will never be truly whole again; but at least they have each other now. “We have both become new people.”

The heaviness of Vane’s gaze hits him like a hammer.

“If only your crew and all those who used to once fear you could see you now. They would marvel, I think. That the mighty Captain Flint is working in a garden. That another man has such power over him.” Vane shifts the plank he is holding slightly so that it closes the gap to the next one, waiting for James to nail it down.

“Do not confuse peace and happiness for weakness, Charles.” James looks at him then, _truly_ looks at him, letting him feel the full weight of the will that had once turned him into one of the most feared pirate captains in the West Indies. “I know you were never one for a home, the comforts of a place to return to that was just yours, where you could simply _be_ without pretence. But even you must have things, _people_ , whose presence makes you more than you are. I know you do.”

Vane gives a quiet laugh at his words.

“People are not places.”

“And yet the difference is not so big. They are home, and comfort, when you need it. And they change. They _have_ changed you. You could exist without them, but you would be less than you are now.”

Vane snorts but doesn’t contradict his words. His gaze turns thoughtful as he takes in the quiet surety with which James has spoken, the calm that he is radiating.

“Who are you now, then? If you are no longer Captain James Flint?” he asks.

“Still James.” James smiles a little. “James Smith, to the people here. Although it used to be McGraw once, long ago.” Charles nods, recognising the offering of his birth name as the gift of trust and reconciliation that it is.

“Well. If you ever tire of your garden, know that you and Thomas will always be welcome on my ship.”

James laughs, and hammers the last of his nails into the wood. He stands up, resting his hand on Vane’s shoulder for a moment.

“Thank you. Now, shall we see what your companions have been doing all afternoon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Do not confuse peace and happiness for weakness, Charles.”_ is probably one of my favourite lines in this fic. \o/


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what my favourite thing about writing fanfic is? Unlike with original stories, nobody cares if you engage in tropes that have been used hundreds of times before. I have ALWAYS had a thing for sexually charged sparring (although from my own swordfighting experience I can tell you that there is very little sexually charged about sparring nowadays, because you sweat like nothing in all that safety gear that makes you look like a michelin man no matter your body shape and just try NOT to get hit) and so of course I had to incorporate it here. I think you all know what the next chapter will contain. :P
> 
> Warning for a very quick and non-grapic mention of childhood abuse by Alfred Hamilton.

Evening finds them all together in Thomas’ and James’ main room. Vane and Anne are showing Mary how to care for her weapons, sharpening daggers and swords, and disassembling and reassembling pistols. Meanwhile, the cat is curled up on the rug next to them. Thomas is taking a look at his lesson plans for the next day, whilst Jack sits in a corner with his leg propped up in front of him, idly browsing through some of their books. James steps across the room until he stands next to his seat, looking for a tome of his own to read.

“You have quite the selection,” Jack says, indicating the pile next to him and the shelves covering most of the room’s walls. “Impressive.”

James runs his fingers over the spine of _Don Quixote_ and smiles a little.

“We have invested quite some time in it, yes.” Jack is far too intelligent not to have picked up on the fact that some books on these shelves could not have come cheaply, but if he suspects where their riches are coming from, he doesn’t say anything.

“Quite the life that you have made for yourself here.” Jack sighs. “Although one must wonder whether you do not miss the pirate’s life, the feeling of a ship’s planks under your feet.”

James shrugs. Why is everyone so determined to question the peace he has found here? He has no desire to rehash the entire conversation he has had with Vane before.

“Perhaps. But it is not worth giving up all this.” He indicates the room, and Thomas in it, with a sweep of his arm.

“I suspect Charles did not understand when you told him that.” Jack’s lips curl in wry amusement. “He has never been one for the comfort of a home.”

“He understood better once I told him that home is not necessarily a place.” James sighs. “Speaking of places – how is Nassau?”

“Ah, Nassau. You’d hardly recognise her.” Jack stretches a bit and promptly winces when the movement aggravates his leg. “There’s a thin veneer of legitimacy over everything now. Streets bustling with vendors selling finer wares than before. Pirates who put on the air of gentlemen. New businesses on the rise everywhere. Max in her element, the true queen of the island. You’d love to see it.”

“I’m sure I would.” James does feel a little sting then and there – he has said goodbye to this life, but to see Nassau finally reaching the potential it always had, providing a safe haven for _all_ people, to exist on its own merit, even if it is under a different rule than he would have liked…what a marvel. He contemplates whether he should ask after Madi, after Silver, wonders if he could bear to speak Silver’s name out loud to somebody besides Thomas. His, at least, is a name that he might keep to himself for a while longer. “Have the English not attempted to send in another governor?”

He does not want to know about Rogers, purposely doesn’t mention his name. The man might still be alive, but James has buried him, has banished every shred of him from his mind, not even the memories of him worth keeping.

“They might try, one day; for now, the old Lady Guthrie and Max have things well enough in hand, and keep enough money flowing into England’s coffers that it’s more profitable for them to look the other way.”

“Good.” James nods. “And how has your crew fared?”

“I am surprised that Charles hasn’t told you yet.” Jack snorts a little, shaking his head. “We are running with two ships instead of one these days. He has his own crew and I have mine; but as a duo of ships where the captains work together instead of fighting, we take more and better prizes, especially from the Spanish.”

“He had no trouble with you keeping your own ship?” James is faintly surprised; the Vane he used to know would no doubt have preferred to keep Jack back on his own ship as quartermaster.

“I didn’t leave him a choice.” Jack gives him a slightly sardonic smile. “And he knows enough to respect my decision.”

James laughs quietly. He can only imagine what their exchange must have been like.

“Well, I am glad that you have found your happiness.”

“Mhm.” Jack is looking past James’ shoulder. After a moment, James follows his glance towards where Mary and Vane are sitting on the floor, Anne perched on a chair behind them. Vane is currently showing Mary how to properly disassemble and clean a pistol. She drops a part and says something, and his face animates in a quick grin and laugh, before he patiently shows her the same move again, reaching out in between to pet the cat next to him. James’ heart lurches, just a little.

“You were a good influence on him, those last months before you disappeared,” Jack says. “He’s…more settled now. More patient. Readier to consider someone else’s point of view.”

James snorts.

“Are you sure that was me? And not the experience of almost dying and a long recovery?” He doesn’t add that fucking Vane had never really softened the man towards _anything_. Especially not in the early days after Charlestown, with his own grief a gaping hole inside him and Vane only too happy to serve as the one distraction that would let him sleep and still leave him clear-headed the next morning. They had never put a name to what had happened afterwards, what they might have been moving towards the last time they saw each other.

Jack throws his head back and laughs.

“Oh, it has certainly had an influence, I will grant you that. Still, someone planted the seeds, and it was not just me and Anne who did.”

“Ha.” James shakes his head, but he doesn’t contradict him. It is not worth the argument.

*

It is early in the morning again when James wakes up and finds that the space next to him is empty. He frowns, but the silence in the room is of a comfortable sort, not the type that screams of danger. James isn’t the only one with nightmares, although they have different methods of coping. It wouldn’t be the first time that Thomas has risen early to make himself a cup of tea to calm his nerves.

James pushes the covers aside and moves quietly towards the bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar and he can see Thomas busying himself in the kitchen, soft clanks accompanying his movements. James is just about to push the door open when he hears someone else enter the kitchen. There is a moment of stillness before Vane’s voice sounds out, even hoarser than usual, slowly forcing out the letters one by one as if in pain.

“Ah. Sorry.” He must have made to leave because Thomas turns around.

“Not to worry. Please, stay.” There are another few moments of silence, the sound of a spoon clanking, before Thomas looks up again.

“You should have some tea,” he says. “It will help with your throat.”

James excepts Vane to speak out again, to tell Thomas he doesn’t need it, to deflect like he would have done with anyone else. But Vane remains quiet, seemingly just watching as Thomas finishes pouring tea and, from the sounds of the jar being opened, adding copious amounts of honey to Vane’s. James thinks he should go back to bed, but something keeps him anchored to the spot, a small desire to know perhaps how this scene is going to play out. It’s several minutes before Vane speaks again, his voice still gruff, but not quite sounding like it is about to break apart anymore.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” Thomas moves a little and James can see him take another sip from his tea and make a little gesture. “Do they know?”

“No.” James can hear the frown in Vane’s voice. “They don’t need to.”

Thomas huffs a quiet laugh. “You and James are far more similar than you’re both aware of.”

Vane grunts something unintelligible which prompts another chuckle from Thomas.

“As much as I love him, I am very aware of his shortcomings. Tell me he never tried to hide an injury from you.”

“Mhm.” Vane is quiet for another moment. James can see shadows moving from his position, assumes that Vane is drinking more tea. “You are not what I expected,” he finally forces out.

“What did you expect, then?” Thomas sets his cup aside with a little clank.

“Don’t know. Thought you’d be more of a stuck-up prick from the way you talk.” A soft rustle, presumably the sound of Vane shrugging.

“Well.” Thomas begins to busy himself with the pot, leaves and herbs again. “I cannot say for sure that I wasn’t one, once. It’s certainly what my father would have wanted me to be.”

Vane snorts softly in reply. His words are still coming more slowly than usual, reminding James of the time shortly after the hanging.

“He must be disappointed, then.”

“He is dead.” Thomas’ voice sounds harsh for a moment, getting caught on the jagged edges of the scars that decades of his father’s hate and abuse have left in his soul. “And the world is better for it.”

The words leave silence in their wake and James has the sudden urge to step out so he can envelop Thomas in an embrace. If he closes his eyes, he can still see Alfred Hamilton’s blood on his hands. He is one of the few men he has never regretted killing, even though he knows that Thomas’ feelings are more complicated ( _He was my father_ , he had told James once. _I hated him, but he was my_ father _)._

“I have known a number of men like that,” Vane finally says, without judgement. “Family should be what you make it, not what you are bound to by blood.”

That draws another quiet chuckle from Thomas.

“I see you’ve talked to James.” His voice softens over the next few words. “He is right. It took me a while to realise, but he is right. With Miranda…” He breaks off, shaking his head. The pang of pain inside James’ chest is almost too much to bear.

“I remember her,” Vane offers. “Although I didn’t know her well.”

“She was my wife,” Thomas says, wrapping his tongue around the statement with a softness that emphasises the amount of trust he is extending towards the pirate standing in his kitchen before the break of dawn. “We loved her, she loved us. To us it seemed a very simple thing, even if the world might not have understood it.”

Another man would have offered sympathies for Thomas’ loss, or tried to comfort him with other words. Vane does nothing of the sort, although James thinks he can almost see his nod of acknowledgement, perhaps a sliver of surprise on his features.

“She must have been a mighty woman.”

“She was.” A smile suffuses Thomas’ words. “None of us could ever have stood a chance against her.”

“I used to know someone like her once.” Vane’s voice is so quiet it is hard to hear, raspy and deep, words still halting and slow. “Headstrong, driven, always fighting against the position she was born in. She, too, was devoured by the same world she had been fighting against.”

Thomas accepts the words, seeing them for what they are – a gift of trust offered in kind for his own. He pours another two cups of tea, adding more honey to Vane’s and, after a moment of hesitation, to his own portion.

“To them,” he says, holding out the second cup. James can see Vane’s hand take it from him, their fingers brushing for a moment. He seemingly mirrors Thomas’ gesture of raising it in respect to those that have passed.

“To them.” Vane echoes.

*

“Fight me.” James’ word evidently don’t come entirely unexpected; Vane catches the sabre flying in his direction deftly with his left hand, looking at him. James only gestures towards the barren strip of land next to the mule’s stable outside. The sky is cloudy so that they won’t immediately drown in sweat, but the air is still warm, and James can feel the trickle down the back of his neck when he rolls his shoulders, loosening his muscles in preparation.

“You too.” James nods at Anne and the third sabre he is holding. She walks over, grabs it with a raised eyebrow. Vane and Anne exchange a glance before looking back at James. He sighs.

“You’ve been cooped up here for over a week,” he explains. “Jack might be happy with reading as much as he can and sleeping plenty to speed up his recovery, but I’m afraid I’ll get back one day to see the house demolished if you cannot find an outlet for all that restless energy of yours.”

Vane shrugs, but acquiesces that James is right with a quick nod.

“You first,” he says, with a nod at Anne. James rolls his eyes – he knows the way Vane is thinking right now only too well – but steps back into a waiting stance, inviting Anne to attack him.

He has forgotten how fast she is. She strikes at him with the speed of a viper, and he barely manages to sidestep in time, blocking her blade with his. Anne tries to flip hers over, but he pushes back until she disengages, nodding at him. He can see the thoughts flickering through her mind, assessing him, his speed, his skill, wondering if he has had any chance in the last five years to keep his reflexes sharp.

They dance back and forth like this, always nipping at each other’s heels. In the end, it is James who decides more exchanges for himself, if only by the smallest of margins; he has no illusions that if they had been fighting with knives, or bare fists alone, he would not have won. Anne gives him a nod and they break, drink water, wipe the sweat off their brows.

“You haven’t lost your edge,” Vane says, and there is a faint note of appreciation in his voice. James shrugs.

“You never know when these skills will come in handy.” He rolls his shoulders and steps back, offering the floor to them. Vane’s lips quirk up in a little smile before he nods at Anne. They walk back over to the bare patch of earth, their weapons clashing in the air. Vane has learned to compensate well for the partial loss of use in his right arm, James notes – he knows when to step away instead of trying to grapple, knows which movements are still uncomfortable, and works around them as seamlessly as possible. Anne doesn’t hold back, mercilessly exploiting every opening he might unintentionally leave her and there is an expression of fierce determination on Vane’s face as he does his best to keep up, although Anne easily overpowers him most of the time.

Just like Anne, James doesn’t make any accommodations for Vane. It is a thrill to fight him again – in amiable companionship this time, and not trying to kill each other. They’ve both always been dirty fighters, and Vane doesn’t hesitate to use every trick in the book to try and get at him. They go for a few more rounds, constantly changing partners until they are all exhausted and breathing heavily, their clothes sticking to their skin from the sweat.

“One last round?” Vane suggests with a look at James. James nods, hefting the sabre in his hand. Anne gives a quiet chuckle.

“I’ll go look after Jack,” she says, throwing them both a significant glance. They watch as she sets her weapon aside and vanishes back inside the house.

James and Vane are both exhausted, neither of them as sharp as they were in the beginning. Still, Vane’s moves are explosive when he comes at James, feigning a stab to the left and bringing his sabre around to the right instead. James raises his own weapon just in time, diverting the stab, stepping inside Vane’s space for a grapple. Rather than using his arm to defend himself, Vane turns, trapping his blade between their bodies and slamming into him with his shoulder to bring him off balance. James grunts, bracing himself against Vane’s weight, trying to wedge his blade out from in between them. Vane drops his own sabre, gripping James’ wrist instead, applying pressure until James is forced to let go.

He switches tactics now, turning their match into a brawl rather than a fight with weapons. James laughs, deliberately bringing up his knee to hit Vane between the legs. Vane grunts, but doesn’t relent in his grip, angling his foot around James’ ankle to try and bring him down. He hits the ground with a thump, the air suddenly forced out of his lungs. They roll around the dusty ground like they are trying to kill each other again, except the thrill running through their bodies has very little to do with mortal peril.

None of the punches they trade are strong enough to cause serious damage. Vane lands a good hit in James’ diaphragm, leaving him gasping for air, so that Vane can flip them around, with James on his back in the dirt and Vane leaning over him, a knee between his legs and his elbows in the dirt, leaning to the left to keep the weight off his right arm. His hair is falling down, framing his face as he looks at James. The tips of it keep tickling his skin, sticking to the sweat that is running down his cheeks.

James has to admit to himself that he has forgotten just how intoxicating Vane can be. His body is still singing with exhilaration from the fight, the smell of sweat and dirt, and Vane being so close. The man has never not been attractive, at least on a sheer physical level – but now there is an added depth to his eyes, to his soul, that James has come to see over the past days. It is just as addicting as his body, if not more so. He knows Thomas has felt it too, thinks he knows where this is leading. Vane looks at him, gaze roving over James’ face, the pearls of sweat running down the bare lines of his throat. James watches him swallow and knowing exactly what Vane’s mouth is capable of doesn’t help matters at all.

He clears his throat, uses the moment of distraction to roll them over, his own hair coming loose from its tie. Their faces are mere inches apart and if James took the time, he could count every scar, every single mark on Vane’s skin. The heat is beginning to become trapped between their bodies. James licks his lips, sees Vane’s gaze follow the movement, a growl emanating from deep inside his throat.

It is with no small amount of regret that James finally rolls off him, taking a moment to adjust the seat of his suddenly very tight pants before offering Vane a hand up. He has just helped to draw him back to his feet when the door to the garden opens and Thomas steps through, looking slightly dishevelled from the trip home. He takes one single look at them and smirks in obvious amusement.

“I see you’ve been busy,” he says, taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Care if I join?”

For just a moment Vane seems to be caught off guard by what Thomas is actually referring to before James bends down to pick up their weapons from the ground. He leans in to greet Thomas with their usual kiss (and cannot help but think how Vane’s smell must still be on his lips - the thought of Thomas tasting Vane on him making another spool of heat uncoil in his stomach) and presses one of the sabres into his hand.

“We’ve had an entertaining afternoon,” he confirms. He moves to take his usual position opposite his partner, but then reconsiders and holds out his weapon towards Vane instead, hilt first, knowing that he will enjoy what is going to follow. Vane raises an eyebrow, but takes the offered weapon nonetheless. James leans back against the mule’s stable, fighting to keep a smile off his face at Vane’s sceptical expression. He is obviously wondering how much he should hold back so as not to hurt Thomas.

Thomas is merciless.

Being of the opinion that a ‘proper lord’ would know how to fight, and that, perhaps, it would get rid of his ‘unnatural tendencies’, Alfred Hamilton had been without patience or sympathy when he had insisted that Thomas drill his swordfighting skills as often and hard as possible. It hadn’t been until they moved here that James had found out about it – in a similarly spectacular manner as Vane is about to.

The first match is over within seconds as Vane finds himself pressed against the wall of the stable next to James, the blade of Thomas’ sabre a mere hand’s width away from his throat. Vane looks both furious and impressed, and James has to bite his lips to keep from laughing.

“You can’t keep your skills sharp on your own,” he points out. Vane just glares at him.

James has to admit that he derives a not exactly small amount of enjoyment from seeing Thomas and Vane fight, although it quickly devolves into something almost resembling lessons as Vane attempts different techniques to help him cope with Thomas’ attacks. He goes for a few more rounds himself until, at last, he and Vane are so exhausted they are beginning to stumble over their own feet.

“We should get back to it tomorrow,” Thomas says with a wink, wiping his own face. “When you’re both fully rested again.”

Vane gives him a nod and, after a moment of hesitation, tucks his sabre under his arm and holds out his hand.

“Good fight,” he says. It is some of the highest praise he can give. Thomas grasps his hand and shakes it, the tiniest of smiles playing around his lips.

“Likewise,” he tells him.

He and James watch as Vane marches back into the house, stretching a little as he goes, the muscles rippling beneath his shirt.

“I feel like I have thus far failed to congratulate you on your excellent taste in men,” Thomas murmurs. “Well done, James. Well done, indeed.”

James is still staring at Vane’s backside as he enters the house, knowing exactly where Thomas’ thoughts are going.

“Mhm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO FOND of that scene between Thomas and Vane. SO FOND.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, there it finally is! The porn chapter. Readers who aren't into explicit stuff, feel free to skip the latter parts of the chapter! It's very, very obvious where it begins lol.

“Mr Smith!”

James looks up. He and Vane are currently charring some smaller tree stumps, with the aim of keeping them from rotting before putting them into the ground – the mule needs a new grazing spot which warrants a new fence. He throws Vane a quick glance, frowning. Vane nods and makes his way back into the house.

“Mrs Johnson. How good to see you. What brings you here?” He walks over to where the old woman has stopped next to their property, seated upon a small cart. She doesn’t reply at first, too busy staring at Vane as he vanishes back inside.

“I was driving into town for some business, and thought I would come by to ask if you needed any more eggs.” She stares at him, obviously expecting him to believe her.

“Thank you, but our own hens are still laying quite well,” James says with a non-committal smile. Besides, he knows that Savannah lies in directly the opposite direction from the Johnson’s farm. “Are you in need of anything? How is the stable’s roof holding up?”

“Oh, just fine, just fine.” She nods. “You did very good work on it, Mr Smith, thank you.” 

“My pleasure. Do let me know if you need my services again.” James makes as if to leave, waiting for Mrs Johnson to call out towards him again as he knows she will.

“I was just wondering, Mr Smith…” Her voice trails away when he turns around again and fixes her with his friendliest stare. “I wonder who your guest might be? My Jonathan came around this way the other day and saw you working in the garden with another man – did Sir Barlow hire a second hand to help around the house?”

James is about to answer when another voice sounds out behind him.

“You always have such keen eyes, Mrs Johnson.” Thomas is all smiles and geniality when he walks up to them – no doubt he recognised her voice and came to see what the commotion was about.

“Oh, please, call me Edith, sir.”

“Of course, Edith.” Thomas’ smile is so dazzling that James almost takes a step back. “I’m afraid it is nothing so exciting, however. James’ cousin John has fallen on some hard times and made the journey over from London to join us here for a while until he finds his bearings again. He has offered to help around the house in exchange for lodgings and provisions, and James can always use another set of strong hands around.”

“Ah, yes, that makes perfect sense.” She shifts a little, tries to catch another glance at the house and ‘John’. “Well, if he is looking for work, we always need people to help with the harvest come autumn.”

“I will let him know, Edith, thank you. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

It is quite obvious that Edith is looking for any excuse she can to stay and pry into their affairs for a while longer. It is equally obvious that none come to her mind.

“No, no, thank you. You’re sure there is nothing that you need?” she wants to know.

“I have everything that I need right here, thank you. If you could be so kind, remind Jeremy to practise his sums until tomorrow, just to make sure that he does not fall behind?”

“Of course.” Edith looks slightly put off by his words, but nods in agreement nonetheless.

“Wonderful.” Thomas projects another one of his dazzling smiles at her. “If you would excuse us then, James has the garden to see too, and I still have to prepare the last materials for tomorrow’s lesson.”

In all fairness, they don’t really leave Edith any other choice than to accept their words. She drives off soon after, leaving them to look at each other and then stare after her until they can be sure that she is out of sight.

“Well. I’m sure we’ll see her here again soon,” James sighs. “Let’s hope she won’t tell the magistrate about our new guest and attract any unnecessary attention.”

“Well, as long as she only talks about ‘cousin John’, we should be fine.” Thomas shakes his head and echoes James’ sigh. “Still, this was awfully close.”

It is only now that James realises how loud and fast his heart is beating. They have been careful, yes, but the uneventfulness of the past days has lulled them into a false sense of security. If anyone discovers that they have been sheltering the escaped pirates, it won’t just be Vane, Jack, Anne and Mary who will dangle from the gallows.

James reaches out reflexively, his fingers finding Thomas’ and giving them a quick squeeze. Thomas answers in kind.

They return to find the four pirates in an uproar, in the process of cleaning out the backroom and making for the mule’s stable.

“It’s fine. There’s no danger,” Thomas says, as soon as he enters the room. They explain the situation as quickly as they can, reassuring their guests once more that no immediate action is required.

“You are sure that it’s still safe?” Vane rasps.

“For now, yes. She will be telling her family and everybody who wants to hear about my new cousin, but none of this should be attracting the attention of the redcoats. We just have to be more careful about being seen from the road when we work outside.” James shrugs. He can tell that Vane is not entirely convinced, but they have little choice – it will be another week at least until Jack is well enough to travel again.

“Perhaps we should start keeping watch.” Anne’s voice is gruff, her eyes glittering with worry.

“And risk more rumours spreading?” Thomas shakes his head. “No, it would just attract undue attention. We will be careful. There should not be any problems.”

James nods, although he can feel an echo of everyone’s fear inside his own chest. He knows that he will have nightmares of the hanging again tonight. Vane’s thoughts seem to run along similar roads, but he doesn’t voice them until later that afternoon, when he is carrying another bowl of food out for the cat. James watches as he pets the little black thing, who tolerates his affection with the grace of a pleased empress.

“We can leave if necessary,” Vane says, looking at the cat in front of him instead of up.

James leans against the wall.

“It isn’t,” he says softly. “The benefit of you all staying here far outweighs any risk.”

Vane looks up at him then and the weight of his gaze hits James like a hammer. He stands up and steps closer, until his face is only a few inches from James’.

“Our safety is not the only one you should be worried about.” He swallows, drawing James’ eyes to the line of his throat, the sharp contour of his chin. “You shouldn’t be saddled with the cost of ensuring our survival.”

“It is our decision to make.” Thomas comes up behind James, resting his hand ever so slightly on his lower back. His touch sends a tendril of warmth through James, of comfort and safety. “And we made it willingly, and in the full understanding of what it might demand from us.”

Vane looks at Thomas and there is something about the expression in his eyes that makes the back of James’ neck heat up.

“Besides, if we were to die on your behalf, rest assured that we would return as ghosts to haunt you until the end of your days.” James means to speak it as a jest, but the words come out husky and deep.

“I can imagine worse fates.” The corner of Vane’s lips twitches in the smallest of smiles.

It is Thomas who reaches out first, placing a hand on Vane’s shoulder. Vane doesn’t move away from the touch, just looks at him, with an expression that is probably not unlike the one James wore on that fateful night at the Hamilton estate. James steps aside, shutting the door to the outside. In contrast to him back then, however, Vane is far bolder – his gaze flickers over to James, who gives him a small nod. Vane takes a step forwards and it is all that James can do not to make a noise when his lips connect with Thomas’.

It has been far too long since he has seen his lover kiss another, but the thrill of it has never fully disappeared. Both Vane and Thomas are demanding, unyielding and relentless in their pursuit of what they want. Watching them measure their skills, be it with words, swords, or lips, is a delight, especially when Thomas’ hand begins to wander, his thumb tracing the curve of Vane’s shoulder, dipping deeper into the hollow of his collarbone.

They are both flushed when they finally part, directing their gazes at James as one. Vane licks his lips, the hunger in his eyes now bright and demanding as he moves towards him. They were never known to be gentle when they kissed, even towards the end of their strange relationship. The same wildness is still inside them now, the same hunger that had once led them to devour each other over and over again.

“Bedroom. Now,” James says, utterly breathless. Thomas lets out a small laugh, fingers leaving a trail of fire behind as they track across James’ shoulders. He sends another smouldering look at Vane before he disappears through the door into their bedroom.

“Come on,” James says, very deliberately placing his fingers on Vane’s arm. Vane doesn’t have to be told twice.

James shuts the door behind them, barely has the time to turn around before Thomas and Vane are kissing again. Thomas is far more forceful this time, now that he knows that his advances are being welcomed; his fingers trace over the sharp bones of Vane’s cheek, down his neck and shoulders. James sidles up behind Vane, careful not to startle him as he reaches around his chest from behind and pressing his body against him. A low grumble rises through Vane’s throat as James’ hands make their way under the thin fabric of his shirt, tracing patterns that he still remembers all too well onto his skin.

Thomas pauses in his kisses as his hand wanders down Vane’s chest, cupping the growing bulge in his pants with one hand.

“Lift you arm”, James murmurs into his ear from behind, his breath ghosting over Vane’s skin. Vane complies and James tugs the shirt off one arm, and over his head, helping him pull it off the right one that he can’t lift high enough anymore. Thomas’ eyes travel along his form with a small smile.

“Now you,” Vane says, stepping aside and nodding at both of them. Thomas laughs a breathless little laugh – he never needs an invitation to kiss his lover, has never needed it. They divest each other of their shirts quickly enough, fingers lightning quick as they burn familiar paths on their bodies. Vane has already begun opening the front of his pants, obviously just as delighted to be watching as he is participating. Thomas holds out an arm, invitingly, the smallest of smirks playing around his lips.

“You could help me with mine,” he suggests, and Vane is only too quick to comply. Together with James’ help, the fingers of his left make quick work of Thomas’ trousers, and it doesn’t take long until James is divested of his as well.

“Anything we should know before we begin?” Thomas’ smile and voice are all promise. “Any…strong dislikes on your part?”

Instead of making fun of the question like he might have done before, Vane leans his head to the side, one of his fingers still trawling over James’ back who arches into this touch in response.

“No choking, no hands here,” he finally says, indicating the scar on his throat. “I will make it known should anything else arise.”

Thomas nods.

“Do not hold my wrists,” is all he says in response. Vane’s gaze flickers to the scars on them, and he has pieced together enough to know why the request is made, although he doesn’t mention it.

“I believe you both know what I like,” James smiles.

“Indeed.” There is nothing proper about the way Thomas’ lips curl into a smile. “Come here.”

James follows the call of his lover willingly, takes his time to saunter over before drawing Thomas into a filthy kiss. He places his palms against his shoulders and pushes against him, walks him backwards until he falls on the bed. Thomas goes willingly enough, but his fingernails leave red trails on James’ chest, all the way down to his groin where he is already almost painfully hard. He places a knee on the covers next to Thomas’ hips when Thomas takes him into his hand. They both turn to see Vane still standing there, eyes fastened hungrily on them, and stroking himself.

“What are you waiting for?” Thomas asks with a smirk. “You didn’t think we’d just make you watch?”

Vane growls out a laugh and stalks closer, muscles rippling in an unabashed display of his vanity. It is as intoxicating to James as it has always been. As soon as he’s close enough, James reaches out, winds his fingers around a strand of hair and pulls him close. He kisses him, tongue moving in rhythm with Thomas’ hand on his cock. He can feel Vane’s touch as he crowds his body close to them, the sensation of his bare thigh brushing against James’ sending a current of fire through him. He arches his back, one hand digging more deeply into Vane’s hair, getting tangled in the strands.

When they break off, he can see Thomas watching them with a half-lidded gaze, mouth open und lazily stroking himself, even as he slowly brings James towards completion.

“Enjoying the view?” Vane crawls onto the bed, placing a hand on Thomas’ chest, fingers curling into the coarse blond hair on it. He kisses Thomas with the same hunger as earlier, but soon moves on, planting kisses and nipping slightly at his chin, as if to test the waters. Thomas wriggles a bit, pressing into the touch of Vane’s teeth.

“Oh yes,” her murmurs. “Just like that.” Vane is more than happy to oblige, nipping at Thomas skin as he goes along and works his way downwards. James trails his fingers down Vane’s exposed back and jerks hard when Thomas finally brings him to completion, completely unabashed about spilling all over Thomas’ belly and groin. Vane turns and looks up at him, throwing him a filthy smile before he begins to lick his come off Thomas’ skin. The sight alone is almost enough to make James hard again. He moves behind Vane, both hands now on his skin, digging in harder when Vane takes Thomas into his mouth. He can feel Vane’s muscles move under his fingers, sees Thomas close his eyes in utter ecstasy and oh, he forgot just how good it feels, how pleasure always seems to multiply for him when it is shared among more than two.

His own cock, not quite hard again, rubs against Vane from behind as he holds on to his waist. Vane arches his back into the touch with a growl, urging him on. His own movements around Thomas’ cock are becoming faster. He swallows and wipes his mouth when Thomas finally comes. Thomas lies there with his eyes closed for a moment before he opens them again and smiles.

“If you didn’t think me dead, James, I would have been utterly insulted about you keeping this treasure from me.” He reaches up, draws Vane down into another kiss. “Now, if you don’t mind…allow us to return the favour. You _are_ the guest of honour, after all.”

“Oh?” Vane stretches out on the bed next to Thomas, all elegance and hunger. James laughs and pulls the oil out of the topmost drawer of their bedside table.

“If you’re up for it?” he asks, indicating his own cock and Vane’s backside.

“From you? Always.” Vane stretches and throws him a smirk. James rolls his eyes, cannot help but laugh.

“Well, that’s sorted then.” Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Now, allow me…”

They allow Vane to find the most comfortable position for himself, taking the weight off his arm, until he is securely cushioned between them, before Thomas kisses him again, just when James slicks his fingers with oil and pushes them inside. Vane presses into his touch, a soft moan rising inside his throat that is quickly stifled by the touch of Thomas’ lips. James prepares him one by one and fucks him slowly this time, an echo of the violence they once used to do it with still caught between them, but its sharp peaks levelled out by time and the slowly growing waves of true affection.

Thomas, in the meantime, moves in the same rhythm as them, taking Vane’s cock into his mouth, the man’s hands fisted in his hair, urging him to go faster and faster. Vane bucks back into James in the same motion, taking him in fully, until a moan rips out of his throat. Thomas’ hands are clenched around his thighs, James around his back and hips as they move in unison in a moment of perfect clarity. Vane comes first, spilling into Thomas’ mouth, before James finishes inside him.

For a moment they lie exhausted, James trailing the rivulets of sweat that are running down Vane’s back as Thomas keeps stroking his thigh.

“Was it as you hoped it would be?” Thomas asks, tracing one of Vane’s leg scars with his fingers.

“Mhm. My dreams rarely live up to reality,” Vane says. He shifts around from his side until he is lying on his back, chest still heaving slightly as he tries to catch his breath. “Especially in this case.”

“Flatterer.” Thomas grins.

“Do you two want…” Vane gestures a little, making James laugh again. He has a little more energy inside him, although his cock is decidedly tired for now.

“I know you like to watch,” he says, bringing his hand under his head so that he can look down at Vane and Thomas both. “And I, for one, certainly don’t mind being the one doing the entertaining.”

Vane’s gaze travels between the two of them as another small smirk steals his way onto his lips.

“Be my guest,” he says. James takes the oil from where it still sits on the bedside table, stoppers it and flings it at Thomas who catches it with a deft hand.

Vane watches as James clambers over him, his body arched over Thomas. He watches as they both go through motions they have done a hundred times before, although they will never lose their magic for them, not even if they did it a thousand times more. Watches, slowly touching himself, as James lowers himself onto his lover, welcoming him inside, riding him with all the lazy abandon in the world. James can feel the momentum building inside him as he looks at both Thomas and Vane, two men that fate has inexplicably gifted him with. He has never been a god-fearing man, but their names will always be like a prayer on his lips.

“Charles,” he says, close to completion, and for a moment, the world seems to tilt as Vane’s gaze focuses on his face. “Kiss me.”

Vane obliges, all salt and smoke on his tongue, but James can see that one of his hands is intertwined with Thomas’ even as their lips meet. He comes with a groan that is stifled in Vane’s throat and caught by Thomas’ body and if there has ever been a moment of perfection, then this is it.

He kisses Thomas afterwards, too, knows the thrill surging his lover’s body at the taste of Vane still on his lips. The three of them lie there, intertwined, hands drawing lazy patterns over each other’s skin and utterly at ease with each other, as if this is how it was always meant to be.

James thinks he can hear Miranda laughing somewhere and oh, how delighted she would be at this image, how eager to join in, how welcomed by them. This, however – this is as close to perfection as they will ever be in this world now, and James feels like another broken piece inside him has finally slotted back into place again.

This is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! I really hope I can get this finished and published by the end of the month so that it won't get drowned out by the 28 fics I'm preparing for Febuwhump right now (there will probably be more FlintVane in there. Mhmmmm).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤

“That took you all an awfully long time,” Jack observes quietly that evening. Anne, Vane, and Thomas have agreed to clean up after dinner and look after the washing up, whilst Mary and James are keeping Jack company.

“What did?” James asks. Mary snorts quietly next to him, biting back a full-blown laugh when Jack elbows her lightly in the ribs.

“That.” Jack gestures towards the kitchen where Thomas and Vane are standing side by side, working on the dishes. It is hard not to notice how closely they are standing together, how their shoulders keep brushing against each other from time to time.

“Were we that obvious?” James can’t help the smile that steals itself on his face.

“You mean the sounds from the bedroom? Or how you and Charles kept undressing each other constantly with your eyes ever since we came here? Or how he developed a crush on your lover almost as soon as they exchanged more than two words? It was _painfully_ obvious, I daresay.” Jack sniffs. James has to admit that he has nothing that he can really bring to his defence.

“I guess it was,” he says.

“You really, really were,” Mary adds, pushing a few breadcrumbs on the table back and forth. She doesn’t look at either of them, something evidently weighing on her mind. “I don’t-“ She bites her lips before she can continue, however.

“You don’t what?” James encourages her, trying to be as gentle as possible.

“I never understood why people would want to have sex or why it’s so important,” Mary mumbles, ever so quietly. “Doesn’t seem very…attractive to me. All the sweat and slickness and body fluids and…stuff.” She makes a vague hand gesture, and James has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Her description is not inaccurate.

“There’s nothing wrong about _not_ wanting it,” James tells her carefully, thinking of a number of people he has known over the years. “Not everybody does. Or should feel obliged to.”

He lets the words sit in the air, patiently waiting for her to continue. This clearly isn’t the heart of the issue for her, or not entirely at least. Mary flashes him a quick, relieved smile at his words before her face grows serious again.

“Will Charles stay here with you?” it finally bursts out of her. James and Jack let out a deep breath, almost simultaneously. Ah, there it is. Jack opens his mouth, sees that James is about to speak, and gestures at him to go first.

“I don’t think he will be,” James shakes his head a little. “He is not one for a domestic life. And neither of us would be so selfish as to expect that he would give up the sea, his life, and the people he loves for our sakes.”

“If Charles decided to stay here for good, I would expect some abject property damage rather soon,” Jack adds with a wink. “He was made for the seas and breathing the salt in the air. I expect it would go poorly if anyone tried to tie him down anywhere, no matter who it was.”

Mary looks relieved at their words, somewhat mollified in her worries for now, and James wonders just how much this little found family has come to mean to Vane. Far more than he would ever be willing to admit out loud to anyone, he wagers.

“Can we come back to visit? Once we leave?” She asks then, and this time James can’t help a small laugh escaping him.

“Of course. Just…be careful. It wouldn’t do any of us any good if you were to be caught after all the trouble you went through _not_ to.” Mary nods eagerly at his words.

“Be careful with what?” Vane steps through the door, casting them all a glance with a raised eyebrow. His hands are still wet, and he is drying them off with a cloth.

“Their safety, should you all decide to visit us again,” James reiterates. “That is, should you want to.” The latter words probably come out just a smidgen more hopeful than he would have liked. None of them have spoken about the future, about whether there is enough desire on Vane’s part to return from time to time.

“I don’t see why not,” Vane says with a shrug. “Unless you…”

“We’d always love to have you.” Thomas appears behind Vane. James cannot see his right arm, but from the way Vane shifts as if leaning into a touch, he wagers that is touching Vane’s lower back. “All of you. Although we might have to come up with some better excuses for the neighbours. And some advanced notice to give us time to prepare wouldn’t go amiss either.”

“Well, we don’t have any plans repeating our previous experiences that got us here.” Jack’s lips curl up in a smile.

“None whatsoever,” Anne confirms, worming her way into the room past Vane and Thomas. She throws them both an exasperated glance on her way past before coming to a stop behind Jack. “Although the occasional break would do at least some of us more than a little good, I’d wager.” Her gaze could not have been more obviously directed at Vane, who only rolls his eyes in response.

“Why, yes, we can’t _all_ have the queen of Nassau in bed at our beg and call whenever we wish.” Jack sighs theatrically, as if he isn’t often enough part of the fun between Max and Anne, as James has been able to surmise from their conversations over the past weeks. Vane only rolls his eyes again.

“Once we are done discussing our various preferences in bed partners, we should begin to make plans for how to best get to Savannah and on a ship from there.”

“Without being noticed,” Mary adds.

“Shouldn’t be too difficult, if you leave under cover of the night.” James frowns a little, his brain immediately latching on to the challenge in front of him. It reminds him of old times, and he shares a quick glance with Vane, knowing that he must be thinking the same thing. Except that the operation they are planning this time is slightly different than what they have done before. “We can arrange having messages sent again in advance, without attracting any undue attention. Your crews have been waiting eagerly after the one we sent to reassure them, I suspect.”

Vane nods. He walks over, taking his place at the table with them, before launching into a discussion of what exactly their plan will entail. It doesn’t take long for all of them to be embroiled in a serious debate, drawing up notes and ideas. James raises his head to see Thomas still leaning against the doorway from where he occasionally interjects with some proposals himself. A fond smile is playing around his lips as he looks around the pirates assembled around their table.

*

When James wakes up, he is almost accustomed to not finding Thomas beside him. There are soft sounds coming from the kitchen, the clinking of cutlery on mugs, a quiet conversation that still carries in the silence of the house. James knows that drinking tea early in the morning has become almost a ritual for Vane and Thomas, although it is usually carried out mostly in silence, at least until Vane’s throat has stopped hurting. He thinks he is going to miss these familiar sounds in the morning, their soft murmurs, comforting in his still half asleep state. Jack, Mary, Anne and Vane are leaving today. A part of this occasion seems to have bled into this morning’s tea drinking. There is something different about it today, and James cannot help but try and listen more closely.

“There. Two spoonfuls of this, and one of this. Then you let it seep until the water is dark green. These are very forgiving herbs – they won’t turn bitter if you steep them for too long.”

More clinking, followed by a mumbled curse.

“No, I won’t mix them together. They work better if you keep them apart and only mix them when you make it.” There is laughter floating just at the edge of Thomas’ voice, followed by another answer that is too quiet and rough for James to understand.

“I know you won’t need it. I’ll write you a note either way.” There is no condescension in Thomas’ voice, just honest care.

There is silence for a while, and then more sounds coming from the kitchen as Thomas takes their mugs and begins to wash them. A short question, asked in Vane’s voice, still too quiet to understand.

“I suppose you could buy them in Nassau? It would be more difficult though. James and I keep a large stock at hand, and we can always get more. How much do you think you’ll need?”

James strains his hearing. The tea always seems to help to lessen the pain in Vane’s throat just after waking up and his voice is slowly approaching his usual timbre.

“A couple of months’ worth, perhaps?” Vane suggests. “It should be easy for me to return here before the end of the year.”

“Do you want to?” Thomas asks him. It is only because James has known him for long that he can hear the tiniest strumming of tension in his voice. He doubts that Vane picks up on it. “You shouldn’t feel…obliged to return. There is no need for payment or anything of the like for the past few weeks.”

“Do you think that’s what these last few days have been about?” Vane’s voice is scratchy and a little rougher than it should be right now. “Me paying back some sort of _debt_ I thought I had incurred?”

“That’s not-“ Thomas starts and stops himself. “I apologise. I didn’t phrase things correctly, it’s not what I meant to imply.”

“Then tell me what you _did_ mean to say.” James can almost picture Vane right now, one arm folded over his chest, bristling at the implication in Thomas’ words. In his defense, Thomas had indeed done a spectacularly bad job at expressing what he and James had talked about before going to bed last night. He sighs very quietly, although it is not enough to drag him out of bed for now. Thomas has dug this hole; it’s his job to get himself back out of it. And he is a grown man, he doesn’t need James’ help. Especially not when it comes to talking.

“James and I…” It is unlike Thomas to be at such a loss for words. “We took you to our bed because it was what all three of us, I think, desired at the moment. We would have done the same in any other situation.” He sighs. “I know you and James weren’t much for feelings, especially in the beginning. But I cannot deny that, when I think about you, about the days and nights that we have spent together here, I do not only do so with a healthy amount of appreciation for your physicality and abilities in bed, but also a not small dose of affection. An affection that is mirrored by James, who knows you far better than I and would still, just like me, trust you with his life these days. We do not want you to feel obligated to return here; but we would, very much, like to enjoy your company in the future if it is freely given.”

Vane lets out a sharp breath after Thomas’ statement.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” he asks, eventually. Amusement lurks at the edge of his voice. “A good fuck, a kind heart, _and_ a way with words? I am beginning to see why James was so determined to go to war for you.”

The way Vane says his name rattles something loose inside James’ chest and it sits there, aching and wanting and simply _happy_ , all at once. Thomas laughs in reply to Vane’s words and maybe that is what happiness is, after all – seeing the people you love find joy in any matter of their choosing.

“What an unusual compliment.” Thomas laughs, but he doesn’t say more, obviously waiting for Vane to continue.

“I’m afraid I will never be one for settling down and spending the rest of my life away from my ship, from the sea,” Vane explains, after a short moment of hesitation. “But…perhaps a week or two of peace every few months would not go amiss. And I would like to spend them here, if I can.”

This is perhaps the closest that Flint has ever heard Vane to admit to something he wants from others, outside of more base desires like wares, coin, drink, a fight, or sex.

“Of course. As I said before, you are always welcome. And I would be glad to know that your departure today won’t be the last time I see you. James, too, I suspect.”

“Well. As long as we agree, then.” Vane has never been one to dwell overly long on emotional revelations. “How long do you usually steep the tea for, again?”

The same evening, Thomas hands Vane a little parcel with neatly packed portions of tea and a large jar of honey, enough to last him several months. Vane takes them and puts them in their packs without comment, but James can see the little smile on his face, half-hidden by his hair as he turns away. There is a soft meow from the pack and Vane bends down to shush and pet the little cat who has decided to attach itself to him and will serve as the newest rat catcher and good luck token on the rebuild _Ranger_.

*

It has been raining for days.

James stares out of the window, watching as the drops run down the glass, soaking the ground below. Rainstorms are nothing unusual for the winter season, but there is something about this one that seems to awaken a black mood inside him, and he spends far more time simply standing here and staring out of the window than he _should_ have.

He can hear the sound of Thomas walking up behind him. Thomas slides his hands around his waist, pulling him close until James’ back is pressed against his chest.

“Thinking gloomy thoughts again?” he asks.

“Mhm.” James leans back and closes his eyes. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise.” Thomas presses a little kiss to the side of James’ face. “Sometimes that’s just the way of things. Were you thinking of Nassau again?”

At times it scares James just how well Thomas can read him. Even if he were to try and keep a secret from him, he probably wouldn’t succeed.

“A little,” he admits. He usually doesn’t, but there are days when the darker moods strike him, and he cannot help but let his thoughts go back to Nassau and the people so closely tied to her.

“Charles?” Thomas takes a second guess.

“Yes. No. Not only?” James frowns, annoyed with himself. “I don’t…I’m not longing to be back there, being on the _Walrus_ , being with him. But I miss his presence, as infuriating as it can be sometimes. I miss them all. As much as I shouldn’t, really.”

“Why shouldn’t you? You can long for things despite being happy with what you have. It doesn’t lower the value of your current life one bit.”

James turns around at that, still comfortably within Thomas’ grip. He brings his own arms up to rest lightly on Thomas’.

“You aren’t angry?” he asks, feeling the frown twisting his own features.

“I was, at the beginning,” Thomas admits. “I’ve always wondered whether this simple life, _us_ , would truly be enough for you, after everything you’ve achieved. I convinced myself that it was, for five years. And then Charles and Jack, Anne and Mary came barrelling into our lives, like a hurricane arising from the waters of the past and I was at a loss for how you could leave it all behind so willingly. I saw you looking out of the window, saw you _missing_ them, and wondered if I was just holding you back.”

A smile twists his face, bitter at first, but softening when he sees James’ expression. James opens his mouth to say something, to assure him that, of course not, Thomas could _never_ hold him back, but Thomas forestalls his reply with a little gesture.

“Sometimes, thoughts like these just need to be worked through in their own time, in one’s own mind,” he says, gaze growing thoughtful. “Not to fester, but to be reflected upon. Which is what I did, although it was quite uncomfortable at times.”

“Thank you.” James leans forward, pressing his forehead against Thomas’. “I might long for them, might miss them, but returning to Nassau would not be worth the price to lose _this_.” He doesn’t need to indicate what he means by _this_. Thomas knows. He reaches up to run his fingers through James hair and smiles.

His ministrations are rudely interrupted by a knock on the door. James straightens up, runs his hand down his waistcoat, almost immediately adopting the persona of James Smith again. He opens the door.

“Ye-“ The last letter of the words gets stuck in his throat, however, when he sees just who is waiting outside.

Charles Vane looks at him, eyebrows drawn up at James’ probably quite comical expression.

“Hello,” he says, gesturing at James who is still at a loss for words. “Can I come in?” 

James steps aside, nods. Vane brushes past him, smelling of rain, smoke and old leather and James breathes in deeply, wondering for a moment if this is all a strange dream. He can’t even remember having closed the door _or_ stepping into Vane’s proximity, but suddenly his arms are around him. Vane, having set down the pack he’d been carrying only moments before, returns the embrace with no hesitation, just as tightly.

“Charles!” Thomas sounds just as surprised as James was, but nonetheless utterly delighted. He gives Vane the same strong embrace James has just given him. “Didn’t you say you were going to send a letter to warn us?”

“I was going to.” Vane rolls his shoulders. “But a storm wrecked our plans and I suddenly found myself in the vicinity. Thought I’d come by, see how you were doing.”

“We are well.” Thomas smiles. “And even better now, for seeing you. Come, let’s get you dry and settled…”

It doesn’t take long for Vane to discard his wet clothing and exchange it for some dry spares from his pack. Thomas makes them all tea and warms up some stew whilst James sets the table. They chat amiably throughout, prying updates about Nassau and the others from Vane.

“Wait.” Vane holds them back before they sit down for their meal. “There is something I want to show you first.” He leaves the room, not waiting for them to reply.

James sends Thomas a questioning glance, but Thomas only shrugs in reply. He doesn’t know what Vane is talking about, either. Vane returns not long after, dropping two packages carefully wrapped in leather to protect from getting wet on the table.

“There,” he says, pushing one at James and the other at Thomas.

“Gifts?” Thomas’ lips curl up with amusement and genuine surprise. Vane grumbles something non-committal and looks away as they unwrap the packages in front of them. “Ah, Charles…”

The amusement on Thomas’ face morphs into something far softer as he looks at the neatly labelled packages of tea in his hand.

“Max said that there’s a new variety that just started coming in from China. Thought you might like to try it.”

“Of course I do. Thank you. This is-“ Thomas catches himself, shakes his head a little. “Thank you.”

He looks over to James who has finished unwrapping his own package. There are two books in his hand, slim volumes that nonetheless must’ve cost a fortune. They are bound in fine leather, and although the lettering on the front is slightly faded, he can still make out the writing – a treatise on herbs in Latin, and a collection of short stories and ‘ _pyrate legends’_ , handwritten in in ink.

“For your collection,” Vane says, gesturing towards the bookshelves. “I hope you-“

He doesn’t get much further than that, because James is up on his feet, pulling him close for a kiss. He’s never had much of a problem expressing himself with words, although he will never quite have Thomas’ or Miranda’s gift for them. But here, in this moment, he feels that a gesture can express so much more than he could ever say, and he pours it all into the kiss, willing Vane to feel.

Vane laughs, slightly breathless, when they part.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“It’s good to have you back,” James tells him, although he steps away to let him sit down at the table before the stew gets cold again. He exchanges a glance with Thomas before he adds: “We missed you.”

“It’s good to _be_ back,” Vane says, taking a sip of tea and dipping the spoon into the stew. “Everyone needs a home to return to, after all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I NEVER expected for this fic to get the reception it did. I mean, this ship? From a show that ended four years ago? You all proved me MORE than wrong and I am genuinely just blown away by all the love you gave me for it. I've poured a lot of myself into this fic - far more than I thought I would, and to see it all received with such love and care honestly made me tear up a little bit more than once. I've been writing fanfic for almost 20 years now (good grief I'm OLD) and I think this is one of my favourite things that I've ever written and you all were a big part of that.
> 
> Thank you so, so much, from the bottom of my heart ❤. And never forget: love takes many shapes and forms and there is no right or wrong way to genuinely love someone, despite what society's preconceived notions might tell you. Just make sure you and your loved ones (this goes for friends, family, partners...) are on the same page. ❤

**Author's Note:**

> The thought of James trying REALLY HARD to hide his pirate past whilst people around him shit-talk pirates will genuinely never cease to amuse me.


End file.
